


Hearts Unbroken

by BeneathTheLight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 13:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneathTheLight/pseuds/BeneathTheLight
Summary: Someone unexpected shows up at Bill's new book signing.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, stanley uris/patricia blum uris
Comments: 27
Kudos: 61





	Hearts Unbroken

Richie used to say he loved traveling. A new city every night, new things to see, new people to meet. The faster he moved the happier he was. Do a show, meet fans afterwards. Hit a bar or two, maybe find a companion for the night. Get up the next day and if he hadn't been careful battle a hangover on the way to the airport, sleep on the plane, check into another hotel and maybe order some room service. Check out the venue, do some promo stuff on a local tv or radio station. Spend most of his free time on Instagram or Twitter because fans loved it when he was accessible and it was a useful time sink for him, too. Then do another show and start the whole thing all over again. It never occurred to him that all he was doing was making sure he didn't have time to wonder why time on his hands scared him so much. The more he chatted with pretty girls at bars or debated with his fans what the greatest Kids in the Hall sketches were, the less time he had to feel the loneliness, the hollowness in him that it seemed he'd always felt but never understood.

That all changed when he came back from Derry. He'd been living in Chicago when Mike called, drawn there by its comedy scene and the feeling that it was just the kind of place that someone like Richie should live. He'd lasted two days before he could no longer bear the cold minimalism of his luxury Chicago apartment and was on the phone to Bill in LA looking for recommendations for a good realtor. He'd left the next morning, crashing with Bill and Audra while he completely rebooted his life in LA. Audra was lovely and they'd both been welcoming and kind, but Richie had been relieved to find a place quickly. Bill swore to him everything was fine and he was welcome to stay as long as he needed, but Richie could feel the tension, simmering under the surface of every conversation, every look between Bill and Audra that they didn't think he saw. 

It still didn't quite feel like home, not until Bill showed up late one night a few months after he'd settled into his new house. He was stuttering so badly that Richie, sleep muddled and confused, couldn't make out a single word. He'd ushered him inside, gotten him a drink and sat with him, an arm slung protectively around his shoulders, while he tried to calm down. Eventually he managed to get the story out. His marriage was over, and he needed a place to stay. _Ju-just for n-n-ow, a w-we-eek or t-two_, he'd said. A week or two had turned into a few months and even though it was a hard time for Bill, Richie had relished every second of it. He thought it must have started then, when he'd come home from a meeting with his agent to find Bill covered in flour and proudly showing off the homemade pizza dough he'd decided to try when he couldn't stand to look at a blank screen for one second longer, or the nights in front of the fireplace, drinking wine and talking until they were hoarse and the sky began to grow light. In retrospect it wasn't much of a surprise when on one of those nights, Bill had taken the wine glass from Richie's hand and kissed him. Richie, who'd spent months recovering from losing Eddie and the last few weeks pretending he wasn't falling for Bill, hesitated only a moment before returning the kiss and letting Bill start filling up all those empty places inside him. Bill lived in his house, and suddenly Richie realized he was really at home.

_Funny how quickly things changed, _he thought as his driver pulled up to his house. "Hey," he said to the driver as he got out. "Can you wait here for maybe 15 minutes? I just want to change and head back out. There's a book signing I need to get to that starts at 5."

"Oh yeah, William Denbrough? I heard about that." The driver grinned. "Me and the wife have read all his stuff. Got 'em all from the library though, or she'd probably be there too. You a fan, then?"

Richie hesitated only a second, still unused to saying the words out loud. "Partner, actually. He lives here, too. I'm meeting him there."

"Oh, you're the comedian! Yeah, I thought I recognized you! Cool. Sure man, I'll wait."

He clapped the driver on the shoulder and headed inside, wondering at the fact that it could really be that easy to just tell people. It wasn't always, of course, but every positive encounter made him a little braver. His voice didn't shake anymore when he referred to Bill as his partner and as far as Richie was concerned, that was a big win. He left the suitcase just inside the door and changed quickly, thrumming with anticipation now that he was only a few minutes from seeing Bill again. He'd been traveling for two weeks and while he still loved doing the shows, it was hard being away from home once home became a place he wanted to be. His manager had called it 'testing the waters,' and he'd been happy to do it if it meant he could take his show in a new direction and maybe try writing for tv or films. Continuing to tour while he stretched his creative muscles in new ways was the compromise he'd made just to avoid having to fire everyone and start all over. He wasn't much of a traveling man anymore.

By the time they made it to the bookstore, the place was packed. People were milling around in the parking lot and taking selfies in front of the giant photo of Bill that hung in the window. Bill was a best selling author so he shouldn't have been surprised but somehow, he was.

"Wow," said the driver. "I didn't know authors had those kinds of fans."

"I guess Bill does," Richie said, and got out of the car. He waved to the driver and made a mental note to ask Bill to sign a stack of his books to send him when he got the chance, then turned to go in. A store employee was seated at a table piled with Bill's books beside yet another huge photo of Bill, handing out books with slips of paper tucked inside the front cover. A sign hanging off the front of the table read "_Autograph tickets! William Denbrough will sign one copy of 'The Barrens' and one other item only. No exceptions. Quick photos with the author will be permitted at the author's discretion._" The woman at the table was telling everyone to write their name on the ticket however they'd like Bill to sign it. The giant photo's caption said "_William Denbrough, today only! Reading from The Barrens, Q & A and autograph session, 5pm - 8pm._"

Richie glanced at his watch. 4:47. He began to make his way to the back of the store where a podium was set up in front of 50 or so folding chairs. A couple of long tables were set up not far from that. Even from across the store, he could see that the chairs were all taken. Dozens of people not fortunate enough to get a seat were standing around holding copies of the book, chatting excitedly and writing on the autograph tickets. Many carried other books or items. As he wove through the throng he saw movie posters, magazines, Bill's other books, tshirts....Richie didn't think he'd ever realized quite the extent of Bill's success until that moment. "Gonna be a long evening, Billy boy," he muttered to himself. Gradually, Richie managed to reach the back of the store. He looked around for a store employee who could help him figure out where Bill was. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. _Babe, __I'm here. It's a zoo out here. Send help._

"Holy--Richie Tozier?!"

He looked around. A girl, maybe 15 years old, clutching Bill's new book in her arms, was staring at him as though Christmas Eve had come early and he was actual Santa Claus. He grinned and gave her a wink, hoping that would be enough. It wasn't.

"Wow!" Richie wished she'd keep her voice down a little. He wasn't sure how much his audience and Bill's overlapped and he didn't mind talking to fans but he really just needed to see Bill. "I can't believe it! You're awesome!"

_Well, ok,_ he thought. I_ guess I can give her a few minutes. Dumbass egomaniac, Trashmouth_.

"You're very sweet, thank you," he said.

"Would you mind signing my book? And maybe a quick selfie with me?" She beamed up at him, smiling hopefully.

"Uh, sure but do you really want me to sign the book? I didn't have anything to do with it."

"Yeah. I mean, I read that you and William Denbrough were together. Like, a couple. Right?"

A thrill ran down his spine, anxiety and elation combined. He hadn't actually been publically out for very long, and his relationship with Bill had become public knowledge even more recently than that. The intial flurry of interest had been terrifying but blissfully short lived; moments like this still gave him a jolt.

"Well, yes."

"So that'd be cool, right? Would you mind?"

"Sure. Sure thing. Got a pen? And a name?"

She grinned at him while she fished a silver sharpie out of her purse. "My name's Holly."

He opened the book, briefly considering signing the title page but then thought he should leave that for Bill. He turned to the dedication page. "Nice to meet you, Holly," he said as he took the pen. He read the dedication again. _To everyone who ever felt like a loser. And to my Losers: Richie, Ben, Beverly, Mike, Stan & Eddie. I love you all._ As ever, he felt a pang of sadness seeing Stan and Eddie's names. Sharp but brief, it was almost comforting to feel it. After all, there was a time he didn't remember them at all. Shaking his head a little, he uncapped the sharpie and wrote "_To Holly: I didn't write this book but_" he paused, the urge to write "but I'm fucking the guy who did" so strong he had to take a moment to collect himself. He kept writing. "_I know the guy who did. It's great. You'll love the part where you find out the neighbor is a vampire. OOPS, SPOILER ALERT. Sorry!! xoxo Richie Tozier._" He shut the book and handed it back to her with a smirk. 

"That better not be a real spoiler!" 

He grinned. "I'm such a blabbermouth," he said apologetically. It was of course not a spoiler. Richie sometimes had poor impulse control but he tried not to be a dick to fans. And anyway, Bill would murder him in his sleep if he spoiled his book to his readers. "Okay, picture?" She got out her phone and he hunched down beside her. "Have fun," he said.

"Thanks Richie!"

He spotted a woman with a name tag and headed for her, hoping she could take him where he needed to be. Others had noticed the interaction, though. He could hear his name whispered and by the time the woman with the name tag -- Emily, it said -- came to rescue him he'd taken four more selfies and signed another book (_To Jason: I didn't write this book but I know the guy who did. He snores. xoxo Richie Tozier._)

"Mr Tozier," Emily said, guiding him easily through the crowd. "Mr Denbrough is this way." She led him through a door marked "Employees Only" and into what looked like a fairly standard retail back room. Bill was standing in the middle of it, frowning at his phone. Richie's stomach fluttered at the sight and he smiled; Bill's serious concentration face was one of his favorites. Of course, there wasn't really a Bill face he didn't adore, especially after not seeing it for almost two weeks. Bill looked up at the creak of the door and a relieved smile lit up his face.

"I didn't think you were going to m-make it," he said, pulling Richie into a hug. Then Bill kissed him, deeply enough that the workers assigned to him for the event looked a little embarrassed.

"Easy, tiger," Richie laughed. "The plane was a little late. Dropped my stuff at home and battled traffic to get here. Then I got stuck outside taking photos and shit."

"Stealing my thunder already? Rude."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think all those people were out there for you? Geez Bill, I'm sorry! They came to see me and when they saw that hot ass photo of you up front they decided to stick around and check out the goods in person."

Bill just shook his head. "How did things go?" 

Richie really didn't feel like talking about his mess of a career just then. Good ticket sales never really meant anything was going smoothly. He shook his head. "Could be worse. Shows went well so I might not have to fire everyone in a fit of rage. Let's not talk about it. Tonight I just want to watch you bask in the adoration of your fans," he replied with a smirk.

One of the store employees coughed politely and they both turned. "Mr. Denbrough, you're due to start in about five minutes. Are you ready? Anything you need? There will be water outside." 

"I'm good. Th-thanks."

"Nervous?" He didn't really need to ask. Bill nodded. Richie took his hands. "A few minutes of reading, a few questions. You'll do great."

"The r-r-reading isn't the bad part."

Bill's stutter never really went away after he left Derry for the second time. He'd tried working with speech therapists again, but it wasn't like he didn't already know the techniques. He'd been practicing them for years. Most of the time it was barely there at all. Just when he was nervous or stressed, but when it came back it could really be tough. The few interviews he'd done in the last month had been met with more ridicule on social media than Richie had been prepared to deal with. Bill reasoned that it was worse because he was out, and homophobic assholes delight in new ways to be shitty. The reasons didn't make Richie any less furious. The opposite in fact. Bill expressly forbade him from engaging the assholes or encouraging anyone else to. So he was gratified to see Bill's fans, and they really were legion, piling on anyone they saw giving Bill a hard time.

"Those people out there do not give a shit, Bill. You should see how excited they are."

"I know. Still. I didn't become a wr-writer to be the center of attention."

Emily stuck her head in through the door. "Mr. Denbrough? They're going up to introduce you."

Richie gave him a quick hug. "I'm going to watch out there," he said. 

Bill nods and Richie slipped out the door and found a chair in what he hoped was an unobtrusive spot against the back wall as the manager began her introduction.

* * *

The reading went well. Bill read smoothly, as he always did when reading his own work, and the passage was one guaranteed to leave the audience wanting more. At least Richie thought so. The audience applauded and Bill waved it off with an awkward smile. 

"Come on man, you're really gonna leave us like that?" someone in the audience called to general laughter and agreement.

Bill waved around a copy of the book. "It's all right here w-whenever you want to find out more! I think we're doing questions, right?" He turned to the store manager who retrieved her microphone. 

"Yes, one question per person, please. Just raise your hand if you have a question and we'll come to you with the mike."

Most of the questions were about his previous books, naturally enough. For all Bill's hesitation, Richie was genuinely impressed by how well he handled the audience. He seemed comfortable and easy-going, despite the slight, stubborn stutter that wouldn't quite go away. One woman asked slyly if Richie liked the book. Bill grinned and glanced back at him with a smirk. "Richie doesn't r-read anything longer than a comic book, and even that w-was 30 years ago."

The crowd erupted in laughter. Richie pretended to consider and then nodded cheerfully, making everyone laugh even more.

"Okay, one more question and then we'll move on to the autograph session!" announced the manager.

The woman who was waiting for the mike set Richie's mental alarms off immediately. Something about the way she was looking at Bill, then at Richie. She was holding a notebook in her hand, not a copy of the book as most everyone else had been. He'd never thought of himself as particularly intuitive but he sensed trouble immediately. Bill, he noticed, seemed to do the same. Still, he greeted her with the same warmth he had everyone else. "Hi there, What's your name?"

"My name is Jean." Usually there was enough of a pause for Bill to jump in and say something else, even if it was just nice to meet you. It was his way of making the whole thing a little more comfortable for himself. Not this time. 'Jean' barrelled right into her question without so much as a breath. "So, the movie you were writing collapsed last year, reportedly because you took off and left the script unfinished and vanished for a few days. Not long after that you and Audra Phillips announced your impending divorce, presumably because you started an affair with your old friend Richie Tozier. There are lots of rumors about all of those things being connected somehow. Care to shed any light on any of that?"

This wasn't a fan. It was a 'reporter' for some trashy gossip rag. Richie would have bet every penny he had on it. She made it sound like all those things happened over a long weekend instead of nearly 1 1/2 years. Bill stared at her for so long that Richie was worried he actually couldn't say anything. He was halfway to his feet when Bill finally spoke.

"No." The tension in the air snapped and the audience burst into laughter and applause again. The manager, looking decidedly uncomfortable, announced the beginning of the autograph session. Richie noticed that the woman was being escorted out during the ensuing flurry of activity. He hurried up to the podium.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Bill said, though looked a little shaken.

"I thought you got blocked for a second there."

"I did." His sudden smile had an edge of anger to it. "'No' came out pretty easily, though."

Richie smirked. "Your fans are very protective. I thought they might turn on her."

"S-so are you. I saw you getting up. The fuck did y-you think you were going to do?" Bill asked, laughing.

"I've faced scarier monsters," he said with a shrug.

"That you have." 

The store manager came over, looking both harried and apologetic. "Mr. Denbrough I apologize for the inappropriate question." 

"Not your fault. Are we starting? How will this work?"

"So they'll have their names written on the slips so it'll be easier for you. Pictures and things like that are all up to you. We specified only the new book and one other item. How fast it all goes depends on you, really, but we stop letting anyone join the line at 7:30 so you should be done by 8."

She led them to the long tables, now littered with different colored sharpies and a large stack of Bill's new book. Bill settled in, arranging everything to his liking while the audience lined up. "Hey, would I be in the way if I hung out up here with you?" Richie asked.

"Course not, but why?"

"I guess I just like watching people adore you."

Bill laughed loudly at that. "Uh, sure. You weirdo."

It was true. For the first 15 minutes or so of the signing, he just sat back and watched Bill. He was soft spoken and friendly, even in the face of some overly enthusiastic fans. He spoke with everyone a little as he signed their books, and smiled warmly for the endless parade of selfies. Richie himself was ignored or given a smile as the fans left and that was perfectly okay by him. He wasn't here to overshadow Bill. But then a young man came up, maybe 17 years old. He chatted with Bill for a minute, got his autograph and then glanced at Richie. "Hey, I know it's not your thing but is it okay if you signed it, too?"

Richie glanced at Bill, who was grinning hugely at him. "You know I didn't have any part of that book, right?"

"Sure man, yeah! Just I'm a big fan of yours, too. And you're like, right here."

"Uh yeah. Sure." Bill passed him a sharpie. Richie took it, glanced at the ticket and kept up his pattern from earlier. On the dedication page, he wrote _To Travis: I didn't write this book but I know the guy who did. He eats pizza with pineapple on it and must be stopped. xoxo Richie Tozier_.

Travis took one look at it and howled with laughter. "You eat pizza with pineapple, man? I'm so disappointed in you!" he said to Bill. Bill stared at him.

"No, I -- Richie what the hell did you write in there?"

"Travis, my dude. They always say you should never meet your heroes," Richie said, shaking his head sadly.

Bill dropped his head and knocked it gently against the table. "Oh God why did I invite you?"

After that, at least a third of the people in line wanted signatures from both Bill and Richie. He found writing increasingly random and ridiculous lies about Bill to be one of the most entertaining things he'd done that didn't involve nudity and Bill in a very long time. He kept the formula. _To [fan]: I didn't write this book but I know the guy who did. [Punchline]. xoxo Richie Tozier._

_He hid a secret message on page 254._

_He wears Spongebob Squarepants underwear._

_He knits sweaters for his dog out of her own hair._

_He built a scale model of the Eiffel Tower out of long grain rice and paste_.

Eventually he began throwing in true things as well.

_He once bottle fed an abandoned kitten for four weeks._

_He snorts when he laughs really hard._

_He once talked about marshmallows in his sleep for two hours straight._

Fans would either shriek with laughter or say 'awwww' every time they walked away from Richie. Bill gave up even trying to find out what he was writing. Between autographs and selfies, he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. It was a text from Beverly.

[**Bev**] Richie, you and Bill are all over twitter. What did you do?

[**Richie**] Now, Bev, I resent your implication.

He twisted around in his chair and held up his phone so he could see himself, Bill, and the crowd waiting in line. "Hey everyone, smile for our friend Beverly!" Bill glanced up, grinned and stuck his tongue out at the phone. The audience waved their arms and cheered. Richie promptly sent the pic to Beverly.

[**Richie**] Just helping my boy out with his first signing for the new book.

[**Bev**] Oh God. Poor Bill.  
[**Bev**] Honey I'm looking at twitter now. What the hell are you writing in his books? "He gave up a spot on the Olympic trampoline team to focus on his writing?"

[**Richie**] Just spicing things up a little.

[**Bev**] He's going to kill you.

[**Richie**] Probably.

Eventually, the crowd began to thin out. Richie thought there might be 20 more people waiting in line. Bill was wearing out, Richie could see it in the way he kept fidgeting in his chair. He never stopped being warm and kind, though. He snapped a quick photo of Bill smiling up at the teenage girl who was talking to him and posted it to his Instagram account. _Everyone go buy Bill's new book The Barrens. It's really great, and I'm not just saying that because he's so damn hot. But he is. _As he was posting it he could hear Bill talking to the next person in line.

"Hi, nice to meet you. Patty? Oh that's funny I had a friend who--" The abrupt silence caught Richie's attention. He looked up at Bill, who had gone white. A blonde woman was standing in front of him, and he was staring down at the autograph ticket in his hand. 

"Billy?" Richie put a hand on his shoulder and looked down at the ticket. The name written on it was "Patty Uris." 

"Stan's wife," she said. She was smiling a little sadly at them. "I was really hoping I could talk to you both."

* * *

They managed to get through the rest of the signing without too much trouble. Richie could see the strain in Bill, but probably no one else in that room could. He was glad most of the remaining crowd didn't seem terribly interested in his autograph in addition to Bill's. He wasn't sure he could summon up anything funny knowing that Stan's widow was waiting for them. They'd hurriedly agreed to meet at a restaurant a short distance away and the date loomed like a storm cloud over the rest of the event. He took the opportunity to text the others.

[**Richie**] You guys. Stan's widow showed up for Bill's signing. She wants to talk to Bill and me.

[**Mike**] Oh my God.

[**Richie**] Yeah. Thought Bill was going to pass out when we realized. Thought I was too, really.

[**Beverly**] That poor woman. What did she say?

[**Richie**] Just that she was Stan's wife and she wanted to talk.  
[**Richie**] Meeting her for drinks after the signing.

[**Ben**] I really wish we could be there.

[**Richie**] So the fuck do I.

[**Mike**] What are you going to tell her?

[**Richie**] No fucking idea. Hoping Bill is smarter than me.

[**Ben**] He usually is.

[**Richie**] ...aaaand fuck you, Haystack.

[**Ben**] Couldn't resist. Love you, Trashmouth.

[**Richie**] Yeah yeah.

[**Beverly**] Make sure she knows how much we all loved Stanley.

[**Richie**] We'll do our best. 

[**Mike**] What are you doing now?

[**Richie**] Bill's finishing up. I'm just waiting.  
[**Richie**] We'll talk to you guys later.

[**Ben**] Please do.

[**Mike**] Good luck.

[**Beverly**] Love you both.

"Richie." Bill's voice, soft. He looked up and Bill nodded towards the kid who was waiting for Richie to notice he was there. He was the last one in line.

"Shit, sorry kid." He put his phone away and opened the book. The name on the ticket was Eddie. "Eddie." He had to stop a minute, swallow down the lump in his throat. It was a bit much after meeting Stan's widow. "That was my best friend's name when I was your age."

"I thought he was your best friend growing up," Eddie said, motioning to Bill.

"Yes. Still is." Among other things.

"You can't have two best friends."

"Kid, I have six best friends. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it." He stared at the page for a minute. He was all out of funny, it seemed. _He loves his friends with all his heart_, he wrote. He glanced up at Bill, who gave him a smile and a raised eyebrow. "Here you go," he said, handing the book back. "Enjoy it, Eds."

"Ugh, dude. Don't call me that." He took his book and left with a wave. Richie watched him go until he felt Bill's hand on his.

"You ok?"

"That was kind of too much."

Bill nodded. "Yeah. We should get moving. She's waiting."

* * *

They opted to walk the short distance to the restaurant where they were to meet Patty Uris. Bill's agent had provided them with a car but they were both antsy enough to appreciate the walk and the time to talk a bit in private. 

"What the fuck are we going to stay to her, Bill? Stan left all these letters to send and you know that's the first time she ever heard any of our names. What must she think?"

Bill shrugged and pointedly bumped Richie's shoulder with his own. Richie smiled at the move despite everything. Sometimes Bill was like a puppy who wanted to be pet and Richie was always happy to oblige. He slung his arm over his shoulders and felt Bill relax against him. "I don't know. She m-must have read them. Wouldn't you?"

"In the blink of an eye."

"She probably just wants answers. I don't know what we can give her that won't sound insane."

"There is no part of any of this that is not insane."

They reached the restaurant and went inside. Bill caught his arm and they paused just inside the door. "Let's just give her a chance to t-talk. See what sh-she has to say. We can go from there."

Patty was already at the a table sipping a glass of wine when they spotted her. She was lovely, Richie thought. Elegant and dignified. Just like Stan. They must have made a formidable couple. She waved them over and they greeted one another a bit awkwardly. Once they'd ordered and gotten their drinks, Bill spoke up.

"You m-must have a l-lot of questions."

"Yes, but before we go any farther I have something I want you to see." She opened her purse and pulled out a slightly tattered looking envelope. She handed its contents to Bill. "This is the letter Stanley left for me."

Bill paused in the process of unfolding it. "I don't think that's something we have any right to read." 

"I understand your hesitation but--well, this letter is more or less the sum total of what I know. It's easier to have you read it than explain."

Richie thought of Stan, writing out seven letters and then going into the bathroom to slit his wrists. He watched as Bill reluctantly opened the letter and smoothed it out on the table. The edges were worn and the words were faded in the creases, as if it had been folded and unfolded hundreds of times. Patty seemed calm on the outside, but Richie didn't miss the way her hands were clasped, tightly enough that her knuckles were white. She'd probably leave fingernail marks in her own skin. We should have come to find her a long time ago, he thought. Reluctantly, he looked down at the letter and read along with Bill. His stomach twisted painfully when he realized he recognized the handwriting. 

_My sweet Patty,_

_I'm sorry. I can only imagine how inadequate that must be, but it's true. It's my only regret about what I'm about to do, knowing what it will do to you. I'm sorry you'll have to come in and find me and that you'll have to go on without me. I never wanted it to be this way. I'm sorry you booked us that fabulous Buenos Aires vacation seconds before I got that phone call. Please go anyway. Take Trisha, or Evie. You ladies would have a great time and you can ogle some handsome pool_ _boy with my full blessing. I wish it could be me. That was going on the trip I mean, not being ogled. Though I've never minded that from you, now that I think of it._

_No one should have to face what I'm about to put you through and it's almost enough to stop me. But I made a promise a long time ago to the best people I'll ever know. This is the only way I know to keep that promise. I wish you could have met them. You'd have liked them, Mike Hanlon especially I think. He was always so wise, so steady and calm. It was soothing just to be around him. Richie might be a bit much for you at first. He was always a lot for everyone, but underneath it all is a beautiful soul. Kind and generous,underneath all the bluster. You'd have seen that soon enough. I think he's a famous comedian now. I always thought he had a crush on Eddie, though I'm not sure anyone else noticed. He was my very first friend. Bill. We have some of his books. I didn't know I knew him when I bought them, isn't that strange? I mean, I think I did, but in a strange way. I know you don't like that sort of book but he's brilliant and I hope you try again. I wish I had time to reread them now that I remember everything. Bill was the one we all rallied around. A natural leader. We all loved him so much. Beverly's a fashion designer these days. She's one of the strongest people I ever knew. Ben's an architect. He built us an underground clubhouse when he was 13. Built a dam that stopped up the river. Smart and gentle, that was Ben. He was always so in love with Beverly. He thought he hid it well but it seemed obvious to me. We were all such dramatic, hormonal teengers. Eddie. He was a little bit of a germaphobe and could be kind of high strung, but he was the best. I don't know where he is now but I'm sure he's doing well. The best friends I ever had. We called ourselves the Losers but I've never felt less like like a loser in my life than when I was with all of them. I've left letters for each of them. Please mail them for me when you can manage it. I need them all to know that I see this as me keeping my end of the bargain. _

_The thing is, I know you must be hoping for answers in this letter. Do you remember when you and Trisha went on that ghost cruise with the people from that ghost hunting tv show? How I laughed and insisted I didn't believe in that sort of thing? Maybe I still don't believe in ghosts but it doesn't seem so ridiculous to me now that I remember. Ghosts may or may not exist but evil does exist. And at the risk of sounding like the tag line to a terrible movie, it lives in the sewers of my hometown._

_27 years ago we beat it, my friends and I. It took Bill's baby brother, and that started everything. So many people went missing, mostly children. We all saw it, managed to escape it for awhile. Until it took Beverly. And we beat that thing and swore to each other, in blood, that we'd come back and finish it for good if we needed to. That was why Mike called, because It came back. And I remembered everything. The lady in the painting. Eddie's leper. The deadlights. Beverly floating. The clown. Henry Bowers. Neibolt Street. Everything. And I knew I couldn't go back. I would get us all killed because I've always been the most afraid. If I showed up, we'd die. If I ignored the call and went about my life, they would die and the guilt would kill me. I can't be here anymore. That's the only way they'll have a chance._

_I think I've always known that. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew we wouldn't grow old together. I kept everything neat and meticulous so that when I was gone you could find anything you needed and everything would be in order. So you would be taken care of. Thank you for letting me spend my life with you. I love you more than anything and I hope someday you can forgive me._

_Love always,_

_Stan_

Richie didn't even bother trying to hide the tears streaming down his face. He gripped Bill's hand tightly, trying to pull himself together. The letter he'd sent to Richie had been bad but this was so much worse. It was the smallest glimpse of the life Stanley had given up for them, for the promise he'd made to Bill. He didn't need to look at Bill, he could feel the devastation and the guilt in the squeeze of his fingers. He was better at beating himself up than Henry Bowers could ever be. Bill handed the letter back to Patty, the paper visibly shaking. He opened his mouth but didn't speak, instead turning to Richie with a look that verged on panic. It was clear that for the moment, this was up to him. He took a deep calming breath.

"Thank you for that," he said. "And...I'm so, so sorry."

"I'm sorry too. The way he talked, it was like you were the dearest friends of his whole life. But he never spoke of any of you." She looked from Richie to Bill, searching their faces for something that could give her a glimmer of understanding. 

"He couldn't remember," Richie said.

"But how? He had all your books, Mr Denbrough. He must have remembered."

Bill shook his head but still seemed unwilling or unable to speak. It was a sorry state of affairs when anyone left Richie to do all the talking. "I had them too. I bet we all did. It was a weird thing. I'd be in the airport or a store and see his books and just feel compelled to pick them up. I remember taking one home once and staring at his picture in the back of the book for what seemed like hours. But I never remembered. Not until Mike called."

Bill finally spoke up. "S-same thing for m-me. I'd see R-r-richie on tv and just..." he trailed off and smiled ruefully. 

She nodded thoughtfully, though Richie didn't think she really understood at all. How could she? "Not even the two of you? You didn't remember each other?" She glanced at their joined hands.

"Oh, I -- I mean, Bill wasn't -- we--"

Bill squeezed his hand. "W-w-we've only been t-together for a few m-months."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I just don't entirely understand."

Bill gave her a reassuring smile. "It's okay. Neither do w-we."

"So you read our letters?" Richie asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "I'd apologize for that but, well I guess I felt like I had the right. Considering." The look she gave them was faintly challenging, as if daring them to question her right to read her husband's letters.

"No one will argue with that," Bill said.

She wilted a little and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "I was just looking for something more. Something that made sense. We were happy. Stan was happy. We'd just booked a vacation. I was online, planning a vacation. He was working on one of his puzzles. And I asked him if he was sure about the trip and he told me to book it so I did and then his phone rang."

Richie glanced at Bill, who shook his head. She wasn't really talking to them anymore; it felt like a story she'd told over and over, trying to make sense of it. Like she hoped if she told it enough times, she'd notice something she hadn't before and finding her husband dead in the bath by his own hand would be something she could understand. 

"I really only barely listened. Isn't that terrible? I noticed he sounded a little off but, well, Stanley is--was--a very sought after man in his field. He often got unwelcome business calls. Personal time was very important to him, you know. And it was such a short call, and I was looking for hotels. For the vacation I'd just booked for us. I did ask if everything was all right after he'd ended the call," she said a little defensively, as if they were going to accuse her of something. "But he said it was, and that he had a little work to do and then he was going to take a bath. The last words he ever said to me and I only half listened."

Bill pulled his hand free from Richie's and tentatively took hers. "You didn't know."

She nodded but Richie knew the haunted look in her eyes would stay with him for a long time. He was suddenly, fiercely angry. That fucking alien clown had stolen so much from so many people. Nearly 30 years of his life and the lives of his friends, but It didn't just take time. He thought of Beverly, finding her strength, fighting back against her father only to lose her way enough to marry another abusive man; Bill hobbled by guilt and stories that couldn't end; Stanley, dying to give them a chance to live; Eddie, smothered by paranoia and hypochondria because he couldn't remember that none of it was real and who never got a chance to reclaim his life; Ben carrying around a yearbook page and aching when he saw it even when he couldn't quite remember the girl whose name was written on it. Mike, watching the world go by without him as he desperately searched for answers, knowing he'd been utterly forgotten by his closest friends. Richie himself, afraid of himself, afraid of who he was, forgetting the boy he had loved who might have helped him be brave and the friends who he would have given--would still give--his life for. And not just them. He remembered Betty Ripsom's mother standing in front of the school every afternoon, looking lost as she searched for her daughter's face. The kid from the Chinese restaurant whose parents had scowled so disapprovingly at him. All the people on all the missing posters all over Derry and the families that were destroyed because of it. Myra Kasprak, who would spend the rest of her life not knowing what had happened to her husband. Despite what Richie thought of her, she didn't deserve that. And there in front of him, Patty Uris who only wanted to find some peace. He took a deep breath, trying to tamp it down. No one needed an outburst of his helpless anger just then. He saw Bill throw him a concerned glance but he kept his eyes on Patty.

"All those things he mentioned. The clown, the lady in the painting? All that was real?" Patty was saying.

Bill nodded. "Yeah. Did he have scars? On his face, the s-sides of his face?"

"Yes! Very small scars. He told me it was an accident as a child but never really elaborated. It was..." she paused and looked at them with sudden understanding. "It was like he couldn't really remember."

"The lady in the painting did that. That was what It was for Stan. Some creepy woman in a painting in his dad's office that scared him. Nearly killed him," Richie said. "It became whatever It knew we were afraid of."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. "I always thought those scars looked like a bite. I told him that once and he got the strangest look on his face. Just for a second, then he laughed and told me I was watching too many paranormal tv shows."

"It w-was." Bill said. 

"This might sound like a strange question," Patty said. "But Stan never talked about his childhood in any detail. Not any earlier than college anyway. Was he---what was he like? As a child?"

"As a kid? Stan was fastidious. Always the neatest person in the room," Bill replied, smiling. 

"And that's saying something when one of the other people in the room is Eddie Kaspbrak," Richie added. 

"We used to joke that he was secretly a Sears catalog model because he was always dressed like the kids in those ads. You know, perfectly coordinated outfit, shirt tucked in, matching belt. He was orderly, couldn't stand for things to be out of place."

Richie laughed. "Remember how we were as kids with the bikes?" He turned to Patty, smiling a little wistfully. "Seven 13 year olds, right, riding our bikes down the middle of the street. All over town. Any time we stopped at someone's house, or to go down into the Barrens, or anything, six of us would just hop off our bikes and dump them in a giant pile of overturned bikes without a second thought. Stan? He'd move his safely out of the way, put the kickstand down, and make sure it was standing nice and neat before he'd run off with the rest of us."

"He hated things that didn't fit neatly where they were s-supposed to fit," Bill said. "I think that's why he spent longer insisting all the crazy shit that was ha-appening wasn't real than any of the rest of us. It s-scared him in a way that was different than the way it scared us."

"He was kind, and he could be...help me out, writer man," Richie said, nudging Bill. "What's the word...acerbic?"

Bill smiled. "That sounds right."

"Acerbic. But never unkind. He--he was the best."

"That all sounds like Stanley," she said, and dabbed at her eyes with her napkin again. "Thank you for talking to me. I know you have had a busy day, Mr. Denbrough. And you as well, Mr. Tozier," she added, eyes crinkling in a smile. 

"P-please, I'm Bill, and no one's s-seriously called R-richie "Mr. Tozier" since our high school p-principle was giving him detention."

"Hey!"

Patty laughed, the first genuinely happy sound he'd heard from her. He could sacrifice a little dignity for that. She seemed to hesitate a moment before she spoke again. "Do you think we could keep in touch? It's just that I'm realizing there is so much I didn't know. I know it's presumptuous of me, and probably alarmingly needy. I just feel very close to him around the two of you. And I'd love to meet the others as well."

Bill reached out for her hand. "I w-would love that. The others would too. We missed out on so much of his life."

"We don't even know what he looked like as an adult," Richie added. 

"Handsome, of course," Patty said, and grinned. "I could send you some photos later this evening. And maybe, if you have any of him as a boy? I've never seen any pictures of him from before college."

"I'm sure Mike has some old photos he could send you," Richie said. "We'll see what we can do about that."

They exchanged contact information and Patty stood to go. She hugged them both before she left. Richie had to fight down the wave of sadness that was all out of proportion to the amount of time he'd known her.

"Hey Richie?" One look at Bill told him that he wasn't the only one feeling it.

"Yeah?"

Bill reached out and touched Richie's face, brushing a thumb lightly over his cheek. "Take me home."

* * *

The trip home was unusually silent. They didn't speak at all during the walk back to the bookstore and the car Bill's agency had provided. Once settled in and on their way, Bill took out his phone and started texting the others. Richie could feel his phone buzzing with the notifications. He ignored them. He couldn't stop imagining Stan in a bath full of blood, or remembering Eddie's pale form, unnaturally still and still clutching Richie's jacket to his body. It was bad enough, seeing Eddie like that when he knew, deep down, he probably wouldn't make it. What must it have been like for Patty Uris, who didn't even know why. To be planning a vacation with your husband and then he gets up to leave the room and the next time you see him he's cut his wrists in the bathtub? He shuddered and almost immediately Bill's warm hand was on his thigh.

"You okay?"

"Do you remember how Betty Ripsom's mother would watch the kids getting out of school? Like she thought somehow Betty would just be there one day like she was supposed to?"

"I remember." Bill was watching him, frowning slightly in concern.

"I wonder what happened to her."

"Betty Ripsom?"

"No," Richie said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "We fucking know what happened to her. Her mother. If she's still alive, I mean. She must still think about it. Unless she left Derry. I guess then she might forget about her entirely. Jesus, I don't know which is worse." He leaned his head against the window, watching the city flash by. 

"I never forgot about Georgie," Bill said. "I mean, I didn't think about him, really. I told Audra that I'd had a little brother who had died young, no details or anything. I think I gave her the impression that it was so long ago I didn't really remember. But I didn't forget that he existed."

Richie closed his eyes. "All the people that thing left behind. What do they do? When people mysteriously disappear, no rhyme or reason. I wonder how long Myra Kaspbrak will sit at home and hope Eddie will show up one day. Based on what I know of that woman I have no good feelings for her but I just wish we could tell her. So she can stop waiting. Patty Uris--as fucking horrific as what she went through was at least she knows where Stanley is. She has a grave to visit, people to talk to about him."

I hope that they can f-find a way to go on with their lives," said Bill, and Richie snorted. "It sounds trite but what else is there to do?"

"I know," Richie said and shifted over to lean into Bill. "It feels strange to say we've been lucky but..."

"Yeah."

They fell silent for the rest of the ride home.

Once back inside their apartment, Bill waited only long enough for them to get their coats off before he pulled Richie into a searing kiss.

"Oh, hey handsome," Richie said with a smile after Bill pulled away. "Come here often?"

"I'll be here every day if you are."

Richie pulled him close, pressed his lips to Bill's temple. "Promise?"

"Always, Richie. I promise." He rested his head on Richie's chest. "W-we _are_ lucky. Damaged, s-sure. But I can't look at you and think I'm anything but lucky. And I've missed the hell out of you."

They didn't waste time with more words. Richie pressed Bill into the wall beside the door and kissed him, hungry and demanding. Bill made a low, approving noise in the back of his throat. They stumbled back, too busy relearning the taste and touch of one another after two weeks apart to bother with looking where they were going. They reached the bed without too much damage to the rest of the house and Richie spun Bill around so he flopped down first, prompting a yelp and a burst of laughter.

Richie crawled up after him, grinning. "Fuck, I missed you." Bill only smiled and pulled him down into another kiss. Desire thrummed under his skin, delicious but not urgent. Not yet. Before Richie could really ramp things up any further, his phone buzzed. Bill laughed against his mouth. "Seriously?"

"Ugh, hang on," he replied, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Out of habit he glanced at the screen before he turned it off and stilled. "Shit," he mumbled, and pushed away from Bill to sit up. "Shit."

"What? What's wrong?"

Richie held up the phone so Bill could see "Patty Uris" on the screen. Sighing, he opened the text.

_Hi Richie. I found some pictures. Please feel free to send them on to all of your friends, if you think they'd like to see. This one is from before we were married, at a picnic in the par_k. The photo was of a young man in a loose fitting white button down and jeans, sitting in the grass. He was smiling at the camera. Richie felt like he would have known immediately to be Stanley even before he got the call from Mike and remembered everything. 

"Jesus Christ, he looks exactly the same," Bill murmured from over his shoulder. 

"Hair's darker," Richie said. "That's really it though. How did you all end up so damn hot? So unfair."

Another message popped up. _This is from our honeymoon. We didn't have a lot of money so we went to a bed and breakfast on a lake in North Carolina. This is a little shadowy because of the light but it's my favorite picture of Stan. 1999_. In the photo Stanley was again wearing a white button up and jeans, but the shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open and the jeans were rolled up. He was sitting on a pier, dangling his feet in the water and smiling at the camera. It was a little shadowy, as she said. The background was the sun setting over the lake behind him and his face was almost lost in shadow. You could still see the smile, though, and Richie tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.

Another message, and Richie couldn't decide if he wanted them to stop before he completely broke down or go on forever. Bill was pressed up against his back; Richie could feel his heart pounding as fast as his own.

_Last one for tonight. This was from about two weeks before he died. I surprised him in his office_. Stanley was sitting at a desk looking at the camera with eyebrows raised quizzically. It was an expression Richie remembered well, usually followed by a roll of the eyes.

They sat there for awhile, going through those three pictures and staring at them over and over. Finally, Richie responded.

[**Richie**] Thank you for that. I can't tell you what it means to us.

[**Patty**] You're welcome. Please send them to any of his old friends.

[**Richie**] I will. They will be grateful, too. And I'll set them to work finding pictures of Stan from back then. Someone's got to have some. Losers will always come through.

[**Patty**] I'd love that. Thank you, and thank you also for talking to me tonight, you and Bill both. You gave me a lot to think about.

[**Richie**] I'm sorry we didn't do it sooner. Keep in touch, okay?

[**Patty**] Absolutely. And tell Bill I'm reading his book before bed tonight so it better not be too scary.

Bill huffed a laugh into his shoulder, then sobered quickly. "There's a lot of shit that really ha-happened in this book."

He wasn't wrong. Bill had wanted to tell their story. It wasn't completely accurate, of course. He'd made much of it completely fictional. The stuff about them, though, the hardships they all faced and the friendship that got them through terrors both mundane and otherwise, that was all there. Accurate in spirit if not in the smaller details. It was the heart of Bill's new book just as it had been the heart of their childhoods. "If she asks, we'll tell her. Otherwise, maybe she doesn't need to know that." Bill nodded against his shoulder.

"She'll ask," he said.

Before he could think any more about it, Richie sent the pictures to their group chat. _A gift from Patty Uris. If anyone has any photos of Stan from back in the day, send them to me or Bill? She was asking,_ he said, and then turned his phone off and leaned back into Bill, who slid his arms around Richie's waist. "Babe. You know I love you and I missed you desperately."

"But you're exhausted and want to go to sleep."

Richie grinned. "How'd you guess? Are you psychic now?"

"I was trying to think of a way to say the same thing to you. We can make it up to each other in the morning." Bill pressed a kiss to Richie's neck and got up to get ready for bed. Before long they were lying together in the dark, Bill's back pressed up against Richie's chest. 

He'd almost dozed off when Bill spoke again, quiet and sad. "We're the last ones."

"Hmm?"

"In the beginning. Before Beverly and Mike and Ben came along. Not to discount them but...before things got scary. It was the f-four of us. Eddie and me, you and S-stan. Do you remember the first time the four of us really hung out? We w-were down in the Barrens. Eight years old maybe? Jesus, can you imagine a parent letting their 8 year old play in a pl-place like that now?"

"To be fair, we lied our asses off about where we played most of the time."

"I guess we did. But we were down there, and Stan flipped out because some b-bird that wasn't supposed to be in Maine was hopping along on the ground in front of him. He told everyone to shut the hell up and not to move. He was trying to get it to hop into his h-hand."

A hazy memory flickered through Richie's mind. "A little yellow bird, right?"

"Yeah. And Eddie was sure Stan would catch some b-bird disease if it touched him. He kept on about it but he whi-ispered because Stan was ready to murder any of us that scared it away. I thought he was a lunatic. Oh! Stan said it was a....W-warbler? Kentucky Warbler. And it shouldn't be that far north."

"Eddie kept calling it a wobbler. He couldn't say warbler to save his life for some reason."

"And you teased the shit out of him." Bill had shifted onto his back and was looking up at him, features barely visible in the darkness. "True l-love from day one."

Richie's smile faded. Bill had a tendency to feel guilty about Stan and Eddie. Once early on in their relationship, when he was very drunk, he tearfully apologized to Richie for being the reason Eddie was dead. That had been a rough night. It'd never been said, but he often felt like Bill thought Richie was settling for him, having lost the chance to be with Eddie. It twisted him up inside, the idea that Bill felt that way. "Billy. Are you getting insecure again? Do I have to go all Pepe Le Pew on you?" Without waiting for a response he pounced, planting loud kisses all over the suddenly squirming, laughing Bill. Between kisses, he spoke in the worst French accent he could manage. "Come now, my little much ado about something! It is spring! And in spring a young man's love lightly turns to thoughts of fancy! You are my peanut and I am your brittle, my darling! May I call you darling? You may call me streetcar, because of my desire for you!"

"Stop, stop, oh my God," cried Bill, squirming away and laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his face. "You are s-so fucking w-weird!"

Richie let him go, smiling fondly. "You love it."

"I do," Bill agreed.

He settled back down and held out his arms. Bill accepted the invitation and let Richie wrap his arms around him. Bill's head rested on his shoulder and Richie pressed a kiss into his hair. "Love you, Big Bill."

"Love you," he mumbled, already mostly asleep. Richie smiled and picked up his phone, immediately dimming the brightness before it roused Bill. He went to Instagram and started picking photos, one each of himself with Bev, Ben, and Mike. He had one of himself and Eddie from the night they went back to Derry, before things went insane, and chose the one of Stan on the lake. Lastly, he added a shot of himself with Bill. They were both laughing and Bill was kissing his cheek. _Tonight some kid at Bill's signing told me you can't have more than one best friend. Here's how wrong he was. A couple of them are only with me in spirit, but I love them as much as I ever did. I'm a lucky guy. I hope all of you are, too. In order @BeverlyMarshFashion, @HanscomInc, @TravelinMike (he picked that name because he loved Fraggle Rock, which is adorable, is anyone out there old enough to get it??), #Eds, #StantheMan, and my sweet @WilliamDenbrough. Love your friends as hard as you can, while you can. Goodnight._

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that Stan had a letter for Patty at the end of It Chapter Two and I was done for. This got away from me a little, I struggled with it for a month and I hope it's worth it. Please tell me if you see any ridiculous errors like sentences left hanging or whatever, so I can fix it. I've read over this and fiddled with it so much I can't see that stuff anymore!


End file.
